


Last Night on Earth

by days4daisy



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Also The Duchess is Awesome, Episode: s01ep07 Penguin's Umbrella, M/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is probably going to die tomorrow. And Harvey has had too much to drink.</p><p>--<br/>Takes place during 1x07: Penguin's Umbrella</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Night on Earth

Jim raises his pistol when his bedroom door opens. He's prepared for anyone - Victor Zsasz, Fish's goons. Even Falcone in the flesh wouldn't surprise him. The last forty-eight hours have been a nightmare, and it's fixing to get a lot worse before it gets better.

His finger only eases off the trigger when he realizes the intruder has on way-too-familiar sweatpants, and looks uncomfortably like his partner.

"Are those mine?" Jim asks, gesturing his gun towards the sweatpants in question.

"Yup," Harvey replies, with the ease of a man who's used to having weapons trained on him. "Fit better than I thought they would. Heh."

Jim clicks the safety back in place. "Why are you wearing my pants?"

Harvey shrugs. "It's not like I packed for a sleepover, kid. Hell," he reasons, "I didn't have to wear anything. I was trying for decency. But if you don't want me in 'em-"

He only gets two fingers under the waistband before Jim puts up a hand to stop him. "Jesus, Harvey, fine. Wear them." 

Jim resigns himself to the company and pushes himself up to sit on the edge of his mattress. He chews back a wince, grazing a protective hand over the bandages wound around his torso. The bullet wound beneath still needs time to heal. But Jim doesn't have time to spare, not yet. Tomorrow, he'll either live or die. Either way, he'll rest when it's over. 

Harvey sits next to Jim and gives him a long look-over. Assessing the damage, maybe? Or just gawking at his partner in gray waist-slung boxers? Either way, Jim doesn't like it. 

"Don't feel too good, does it?" Harvey asks.

"What?"

"Playing the hero," Harvey murmurs. "Looks great in Hollywood. Bunch of pretty boys parading around, looking tough. Happy ending every time. Friends are safe, family's safe. That's B.S., kid." Harvey glances at his bandages. "Real heroes get bloody quick. So does everyone around them."

"Barbara's out," Jim grits. "She's fine. And no one told you to be here, Harvey. You showed up on your own, with," he cocks his head towards the bedroom door, "whatever that is out there."

Harvey shrugs. "The Duchess? She's leaving." Jim raises a brow. "Yeah, I told her it's not safe around here. I'll see her soon."

"She shouldn't be out there on her own," Jim protests, starting to stand.

He stops when Harvey puts a hand on his shoulder. Normally, Jim would shake him off with ease. But his injury twinges, and he grimaces, reluctantly sitting back down.

"Don't worry about her," Harvey says. "She's one dame that doesn't need your dashing knight routine. Loyal girl, keeps her trap shut. Real good in the sack too-"

"All right, stop," Jim grumbles, rubbing his eyes. 

"Hey, don't judge. They can't all be high society broads."

Jim recognizes the dig at Barbara. But he lets it go unchallenged, in favor of trying not to picture what transpired in his guest bedroom earlier that night. 

He still has his face buried in his hands when Harvey says, "For the record, kid, this is the liquor talking-"

"Oh god."

Harvey ignores him. "You've got the hero part down, all right? I buy it. Hell, I know better than to be here, but you got me. That's something."

"Yeah," Jim mutters. "Just you."

He jumps when Harvey smacks him upside the head. "What the hell!"

"Yeah, just me," Harvey barks. "Know what? 'Just me' is pretty damn good, kid. You've screwed me over enough times-"

Jim's brow rises. "Screwed _you_ over?"

"Lied to me? Almost got me killed? Been an overall asshat?" Harvey rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Screwed _me_ over. You better thank your lucky stars you got me, Jim. 'cause you're doing a piss-poor job on your own."

Jim wants to argue these points. Or just punch Harvey in the face for calling him an asshat. Jim's body may be in Swiss cheese condition, but Harvey is old and drunk. Jim could probably take him.

But he doesn't. He's sore, tired, and facing an uphill battle. Jim is probably going to die tomorrow. Next to this realization, everything else seems small.

Harvey's right. As much as Jim hates to admit it, he's made plenty of mistakes. And he does feel better going into the fire tomorrow with a partner, even if it means they both get burned in the end.

Harvey has been around Jim long enough to know that silence is his way of giving in. Jim tries to cover with a warning look, but it doesn't work. Harvey's shit-eating grin quickly becomes a full-on cackle. 

"I'm growing on ya, partner," Harvey snickers, clapping Jim on the back. The force of his hand makes Jim grunt. Bullet hole in the side. No big deal, Harvey.

Only, Harvey doesn't pull his hand back after the friendly gesture. He keeps it, flat and big, on Jim's back.

Jim frowns. "You're drunk," he says.

Warily, he watches Harvey shoot a wandering look down his back. His eyes have no good reason to be there. Other than drinking in the sight of Jim's underwear slung low on his waist.

"Harvey..."

"Yeah, no kidding," Harvey mumbles absently. His fingers stroll their way up Jim's spine, dancing vertebrae to vertebrae. 

Jim eyes narrow. "You're not this drunk."

Harvey gives him an innocent look. "Sure I am." But the thumb he slides up Jim's throat tells a different story.

Jim grits his teeth when the finger settles under his jaw. The rest of Harvey's hand drapes heavily over his neck.

"No," Jim forces out. "You're not." He's giving serious reconsideration to slugging his partner after all. 

But there's something else in Jim's voice, too. Something that makes Harvey bold enough to dig his thumb harder, right under Jim's jawbone.

Jim sits up straighter, and his eyes lose focus.

He only falters for a second. But one second of weakness is enough to carve a new, deeper smirk on Harvey's face.

"Your word against mine, kid," Harvey says. His gaze slides down the front of Jim's body. "And I've got tenure."

Jim knows exactly where Harvey's eyes are, but he keeps his own head up. "That's not for you," he mutters.

"Oh yeah?" Harvey's thumbnail bites harder into Jim's skin. Jim glowers at him, but the look is low-lidded, dark under long lashes.

Harvey licks his lips. "Seems like it's for me, partner," he says.

"Changed my mind," Jim grumbles. It takes extra effort to keep his voice steady. "Don't want your help. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever. Thanks."

The stare Harvey gives him is full of ideas.

But instead, Harvey shrugs and removes his hand. "Take care of it yourself," he says. "No skin off my ass."

He gets up and shows himself to the door. Relieved, Jim sags against the bed frame.

"Oh," Harvey adds. "I'm helping myself to your liquor cabinet. Flask's gone empty on me."

"Fine," Jim grits. Anything to get Harvey away from the obvious interest in the front of his boxers.

"I'll toast ya though, don't worry," Harvey says, grinning. "To giving the boy wonder a boner. Not bad for an old coot, eh?"

Jim groans. "Get your brain off my dick, Harvey."

Harvey does the exact opposite of what Jim wants, what else is new? He drinks in the sight one more time, swiping his tongue over his lip. Jim knows this look. It's the same one he gives Barbara when she's got him, the one that says he couldn't say no to her if he tried.

He did the right thing by sending Barbara to safety, but he misses her. God, he misses her.

But...does he miss her as much as he should?

As if reading his thoughts, Harvey grins. "High society girls. They'll be the death of you, Jimbo."

"Harvey-" His partner closes the door before Jim can finish the thought.

Grateful to be alone, Jim carefully lowers himself back down on the bed. He hears glass clanking and liquid being poured from the living room.

Jim shifts, then winces uncomfortably. He wishes he could blame his wound for the discomfort, but he can't. Not this time. 

Outside, Harvey has helped himself to the liquor cabinet and the sound system. Jim has come to expect classic rock from his partner. But tonight, Harvey picks jazz. Rolling notes of suggestion whisper through the walls of the loft.

Jim curses under his breath. Tomorrow, he's probably going to die. Is this really how he's going out?

Jim pulls the top drawer of his nightstand open and coats his hand with the pharmacy-brand lotion inside. Gingerly, he shifts, easing the waistband of his boxers down.

As Jim begins to stroke, he does his best to think of Barbara. Not the heavy, male footsteps just outside his door. 

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm having a blast with this show. So many fun characters, too many lovely ships *_*
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi or blab about Gotham with me :)


End file.
